Something's Going Around
by animestarlight09
Summary: Hermione has a cold, and she's going to do something about it.  Nothing is going to stop her from getting a cough drop, except, perhaps, that other visitor in the ward.


**So, I started writing this story several months ago as a result of having a cold just a few weeks before summer. Terrible timing but oh well. Also, this was partly written for a challenge. Enjoy. **

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, viruses, or Dramione-though I wish I did! :X

**Something's Going Around**

She hated colds. Really, really hated colds. The coughing, the stuffy nose, the sore vocal cords—everything. Sure, there was probably a Pepperup Madam Pomfrey could give her, but she didn't want it. It was her muggle nature, perhaps, that made her refuse it. Cold potions were no different than cold medicine; they caused her to depend on them for even the smallest indication of the sniffles, and they made her immune system weaker, or at least made her feel weaker. Plus, she was just plain stubborn, and they tasted just plain _awful_. She would not take anything and would let the cold run its (quite painful, actually) course all the while ignoring Ron and Harry's concerned expressions when she placed a hacking cough into the crook of her elbow.

"Hermione…"

"I said no, Harry."

"But please—"

"I said no, and the same goes for you, Ron."

Anyway, the reason she _really_ hated colds was because of the insatiable need for tissues and cough drops, and she was out.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," she huffed (sniffled while taking a breath more like, actually) with her nose running and coughing at full force (why did it always get worse when she wanted to simply relax and rest her body?) It was at that moment that her lungs decided to voice their rebelliousness. As she muffled her coughing in her pillow, her resolution to ride it out snapped. Breaking rules, smeaking rules. She needed a blessed cough drop! Creeping out of her bed as to not wake the other girls, Hermione sneaked over to the other side of the room. It was a long moment of silence when she lifted open her trunk; she winced and held an adrenaline-filled breath as soon as she heard the eventual creak. Once she found the object that lay hidden between her sweaters, Hermione pulled it out. Harry's invisibility cloak shimmered in the candlelight; it warmed her heart to think that her best friend allowed her to use his most precious memorabilia. The urge to cough caused her body to shudder, and she desperately fought against it, not wanting to alert her roommates. Resisting was not enough, and she had to resort to muffling her coughs into Harry's cloak. Lavender sighed deeply in her sleep, her dreams disrupted. Eyes wide, Hermione left the chamber, wanting to not be caught and to have this done and over with—cough drops, please! She pulled the cloak over her head while she walked toward the common room door. Easing it open, she slipped through a crack just big enough for her to pass through.

"Don't get caught," whispered the Fat Lady as Hermione crept away. She rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the fear that coursed in her veins.

Step after step, staircase after staircase, floor after floor, she finally reached Madame Pomfrey's ward. Pushing the grand door open, she prayed it wouldn't make any sounds. There must have been angels with her that night because the door made no noise. Tiptoeing—though she didn't know why she felt the need to, considering she was the sole human in the room—Hermione passed the long rows of beds against the wall and arrived at the cabinets where Madame Pomfrey stored her medicines and tonics. She reached for the knob of the closest cabinet when movement in the corner of her eye quickly caught her attention. So, she was not alone then; someone else was quietly searching the cabinets on the other wall, clinking glass flasks occasionally. Quite smartly, she stayed, unmoving, in the shadows and reached into her pockets for her wand, well, she thought she was going to. Her adrenaline filled heart raced as she slowly realized her fingers were grasping nothing but fabric and air. She panicked. Trying to calm quick breaths, she rechecked her pockets and mentally groaned. Frankly, she couldn't believe her own idiocy, how could she have left her wand behind? Was she a witch or not? Her frantically moving elbow rapped against the wooden side of the cabinet, and all actions ceased from both parties. Well, until the virus in her decided now would be a perfectly acceptable opportunity to make her cough violently at that point in time. When she stopped, the silence left behind was deafening. Only barely louder than a whisper, the stranger asked, "Who's there?" Her lips pursed at the cliché-ness of the question until she had an epiphany. "Malfoy?" She gaped.

"Granger?" He asked equally stunned.

"What on Earth are you doing here? And at this time of the evening too," she accused and coughed.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question, Miss Brightest-Witch-Of-Our-Age?" He criticized darkly. She frowned, not quite realizing he didn't have the ability to read her body language in the dark AND under an invisibility cloak. "You sound atrocious by the way," he decided to add in as an extra side note.

"Shut up, Malfoy," she hissed between sniffs. He only chuckled like he knew something she didn't. "What, Malfoy?" She snapped, short and not so sweet.

"You know, I think I'm going to save you loads of time, Granger, but it's going to come at a cost. See, I haven't been sleeping for days now, and, despite what the ladies say, a hazard look really isn't all my style. I need a sleeping aid potion, Granger, and you're going to help me find it. I'll give you this only," he waved the container in his hand as emphasis and scanned the room, hoping to catch some sign of her, "Pepperup Potion Madam Pomfrey has in her possession in exchange." She grinned.

"I don't want it, Malfoy."

"What?" He asked, baffled, "You sound like you're going to cough up your bloody lungs any minute, and _you don't want it_?"

"Yes, I don't want it; that's what I said, isn't it? Are deaf as well as daft? I didn't come to find a _cold potion_, Malfoy. I'm looking for something entirely different." He thought, for once, a moment and asked unsurely, "Then what is it that you are looking for?"

"As if I'd actually tell you!" She laughed until it dissolved into a coughing fit. He scowled.

"You're lying then," he stated simply.

"I am not!" She protested, flinging her arm upward and knocking the cabinet that got her caught in the first place. He cocked his head in her general direction.

"Why are you still hiding, Granger?"

"When it's any of your business, I'll let you know," she snapped. He leaned in her direction, his hand sliding along the ledge of the cabinet near him with irritation grimacing his face. She sighed. He honestly looked pitiful.

Coughing slightly, she cleared her throat. "Let's look for that potion already, Malfoy. I don't want to be up all night with you pestering me with ridiculous questions as a result of your insomnia." He scowled, irritated that she had seemingly bested him. He watched as a cabinet door, only two down from where he was positioned, opened on its own and started making a ruckus, as glass beakers full of colorful—though all dark in the moonlight—liquids rearranged themselves in a spontaneous order. As he started turning to the cabinet at his hip, he was struck with a brilliant idea. While Hermione was distracted, he silently slipped off his shoes. After testing his socks on the tiles, he decided that the floor was at a satisfactory noiseless and frictionless standard. He placed his shoes on the cabinet ledge and shifted his feet to slide near her. His fingers twitched with the anticipation of his prank. He could judge approximately where she was standing and cautiously reached toward her invisible figure. As soon as his fingertips felt fabric, they latched on and yanked the sheet away…as well as her hair.

"AH!" She exclaimed in fear and pain.

Shocked, he mumbled out a very pathetic apology. "Sorry? Just sorry? You nearly bloody pulled my _hair_ right out of the _roots_, and you're only _sorry,_" she seethed, poking him formidably in the chest. Shrugging, he stated the obvious, "Sorry is the best you're going to get." She made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat, and then, as if on cue, she bent over as she was attacked by alien coughs. "This is just, _cough, cough,_ fantastic. My night_, cough, cough, cough,_ has been bloody wonderful!" She stood upright and sucked in a huge gulp of air as if she had been underwater for too long. He watched her with an impassive face before calmly saying, "You sound like a seal with too much testosterone and turrets." Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened; she opted to make a smart remark but, instead, surprised them both by grinning. "I suppose you're right for once, Malfoy." He lowered his eyelids and pursed his lips; arrogance seeped from his pores.

"I'm right more often than you give me credit for." When she went to respond, the only sound that came out of her mouth was hacking. His nose lifted up like he smelled something disgusting. "You really do sound absolutely ghastly. For your sake and mine, take that potion."

With her hand still covering her mouth, she said wryly, "Only if you say, '_please,' _Malfoy."

He ran his tongue over his teeth, contemplating his options. "Please," he decided and gave her a crooked smile, "and I'll give it to you mouth-to-mouth."

"Cheeky dog," she noted.

Ignoring her comment, he walked over to his previously occupied cabinet and grabbed the bottle. After returning to her, he shook it in front of her face. "Take it," he said seriously.

"Are you going to force me?"

"If your senseless hacking fits grind my nerves well enough, then yes."

She only rolled her eyes. "What? Do you think I won't?"

"I don't know, Malfoy, but I'm not patient enough to let you try."

"Try and succeed," he added. She rolled her eyes again. Grabbing it out of his hand, she winced as the potion burned down her throat. The steam rushed out of her ears and caused to hair to whip out to the sides giving her the appearance of a monster. This only caused Draco to giggle obnoxiously at the site of her; she glared at him disapprovingly. When he stopped, he looked at her gleefully, and his body shifted towards the door. "Well, this has been fun, but I'm much too tired to look for something for me now." The left corner of his mouth perked up. "See you tomorrow, Granger," he said as he walked away, waving his hand casually. She watched blankly before calling to him, "Drink something warm before you go to bed! Like tea or hot chocolate! It might help you sleep better!" He raised his hand from his pocket to let her know he heard her.

She rubbed the back of her head gently. "Bugger that hurt. We must both be loony from lack of sleep." Picking up Harry's luminous cloth off the tiles, she wrapped it around her shoulders. "Absolutely loony." Hearing the soft click of the closing door felt like finality on the night.

For Hermione, breakfast the next morning was, for lack of a better feeling, odd. She sniffled, as she walked to the Gryffindor table—only to be intercepted by a Mr. Blaise Zabini. "Draco says he needs to speak to you in private. In the hall." He tilted his head towards the doors, and she saw blonde hair quickly disappear, not wanting to be caught spying. She rolled her eyes for the third time in less than twenty-four hours. _Let's get this over with_, she thought as she pulled the door open and slipped through it.

"Granger."

"Malfoy."

"How's your cold? Any better?" She looked at him exasperated.

"This is what you wanted to talk about?"

"No…" He slowly drew out the word.

"Granger, will you…gooutwithme?" He finished in a rush; she only looked at him bewildered. That was it? No cliché plotline? No breath-taking, dramatic build-up? No, fingertip-tingling, heart-stopping, and firework-exploding kiss? No, perhaps this was much better. She didn't realize she was studying the floor until Draco shifted nervously. "Yes," she said, glancing up to his eyes. His eyes closed, and he tried to secretly clench his hand in success. "Will you eat with me at my table?" He curled his lip up at the thought of eating at the _Gryffindor_ table. "

"Can I?"

"Yes." There is was again; that one word from her that filled up his entire being with euphoria. He nudged her through the doors and across the Hall.

Hermione sat at the table with Draco close behind. Harry gave him a dry look before asking her, "So, I take it you're going out now?"

Her toast stopped mid-path. "How did you know?"

"Malfoy practically skipped the whole way over here."

Draco sniffed. "If I skipped, it would be nothing short of skipping in a manly way." He sneered at them after his conclusion. Hermione threw bits of her toast at him in response.

Fashion fads have their way of spreading quickly, postal services, well, they have their way around, viruses can strike the masses like lightening, but nothing can top the speed of gossip.

There were a lot of things going around that year, but the swiftest of them all was the news of DMxHG.


End file.
